


Hold Fast, Dear Captain

by RoseGoldAmpersand



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Bottom Tony Stark, Communication, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Jealous Steve, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Tony Stark, Past Relationship(s), Past Tony Stark/Stephen Strange - Freeform, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Steve, Semi-Public Sex, Top Steve Rogers, service top steve rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 07:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19883893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseGoldAmpersand/pseuds/RoseGoldAmpersand
Summary: Tony remembered Doctor Stephen Strange from the more wild nights of his youth, but he was pretty sure Strange hadn't worn a cape back then. At an Avenger's gala, Tony reunites with his ex-lover and a jealous Captain America sets out to remind his partner exactly who it is he belongs to.





	Hold Fast, Dear Captain

**Author's Note:**

> AU - Canon divergence: Civil War never happened, Steve and Tony find common ground and search for Bucky together, they grow close, fall in love, get engaged. Set sometime after Ragnarok, ignores Infinity War.   
>    
>  This is not an IronStrange fic, just my headcanon of them reuniting as past-lovers post-Doctor Strange (2016) amuses me. Enjoy!

Tony had to hand it to Pepper; the Mansion did look a lot better with people in it. Restoring the old Stark home then flooding the entrance hall and the entertaining ballroom with Avengers, so-called distinguished guests, and a select handful of media newsies was her greatest PR suggestion yet. These were the people he was born and bred to captivate and he did it well. 

Tony moved across the room from group to group, but did not linger for more than a few uproarious bouts of laughter before he moved onto the next flock _(_ _always leave them wanting more_ _)_. He felt strangely at home among the cacophony of music and mingling and he joked with friends and schmoozed the rich with thickly veiled insults. He always had a reason to hate events like these; as a child, it was because they were boring, as a teen he wanted to rebel and spitefully distance himself from the Stark name and as a young adult he suffered the weight of the crown on his head. Despite the fact that currently, he would much rather be elbow-deep in the gut of Cap’s Harley-Davidson, he wasn't uncomfortable. Things had changed: the cause, the people, even the house and Tony himself. 

He settled with his back to the bar around nine, playing with the chain around his neck absently as he pondered how soon he could get back to the bike project. Ideally, his presence wouldn’t be required once the clock struck eleven and the trip home wouldn’t take longer than half an hour. He had to factor in someone interrupting him, but that left a reasonable three hours until he could feel the concrete of the garage on his bare feet and grease smudging his forearms. Two and a half, if he was hopeful. Which was as good as only two hours, really. And in an hour he would only have an hour left-

"Stark."

Tony whirled to attention. Not because a voice called his name (something so quotidian it hardly registered as anything more than birds chirping), but because that voice was intimately familiar. It plucked at some long-buried memory, poorly stored and fuzzy due to age and a lack of continued recollection (tainted, too, by the unreliable hum of drugs that glazed over many a memory from years long past), which was enough to pique Tony's curiosity.

He just hoped it wasn’t another pissed off Killian-type out for blood. Now _that_ would really sucker-punch his evening in the balls.

Tony’s lower lip dropped a little in surprise as he took in the man before him. He was indeed familiar, but ever so different from the man that he could remember in his mind's eye. Like himself, there was grey at his temples where there hadn’t been before, signs of age and wear set in over wrinkles around his eyes, too. 

Unlike himself, the other man wore a cape.

_I should get a cape. Is a cape too on the nose?_

"Strange," he greeted, a little bit of truth breaking through the word over his tongue. Tony hadn't seen the world-renowned doctor since '05. He cast his mind back to that blurry vignette of memory, recalling that Strange had a good taste of expensive sheets, men, and liquor. 

Tony's eyes dropped to the glass of gold spirit the other man held when his gaze caught sight of scars running along each finger. They twitched under his inspection, shuddering in a way that felt disturbing to witness. He felt pity, Tony realised: Strange had been an excellent and talented surgeon - arrogant, but deserving of praise - but now?

"Car accident," Strange answered before Tony could even ask. He held out his free hand generously and Tony let it drape over his palm. It trembled on the flat surface of his hand and Tony bent close to trace the concave red lines with his eyes. He briefly - madly - considered taking his shirt off as a trade; Strange would be fascinated by the arc reactor. "Fifty-two broken bones. And they couldn't save the Huracán."

Tony looked up and Strange was smirking so he laughed and remembered their shared love of cars; sadness for this near-stranger replaced by friendly recognition. "That's a damn shame. You should've dropped in sooner; I think I have a spare or two in storage somewhere. Canary yellow with your name on it."

That bought him a chuckle and Tony couldn't help but feel pleased. He had always felt pleased around Strange, that much he could remember, while stumbling into bed and chatting about their day afterwards, casual, sweaty and sated. 

Before Steve - before Pepper - Tony had never had any kind of committed relationship. Strange was far from that, but he was also far from the nameless and faceless stream of individuals Tony had swept himself up in during the mid-to-late-nineties. Strange’s presence in his life - limited, admittedly, to bedrooms and flat surfaces - had been infrequent, but recurring. Which was very irregular for Tony back then, who rarely saw a lover more than once after they’d had their fill. 

A rock on the riverbed.

With that in mind, Tony smiled, a charming, confused little thing. He flicked his hand not holding his drink - agua fresca; watermelon, mint, nothing hard - lazily towards the floor of mingling supers and benefactors. "I didn't think that charitable giving was your thing."

Sure, they'd met (and left early) at a few galas in the past; celebrating the hospital, the children, Stephen's godlike touch probably, et cetera. Tony turned up for the booze and good publicity and had always thought Strange was the same.

"Nor I of you," Strange replied with a quirk of his brow. It was a bit smug, the curl of his lip, and Tony had a flash of memory that recalled pouncing for that cockiness. "We've both changed in the past decade," and then his eyes did flicker down to Tony's chest. "But you're half right; I'm not here solely to donate to the cause. Thor invited me."

 _"You_ know Thor?" Tony frowned, amused. He followed Strange’s finger which gestured to the god himself, who was clearly weaving a story to a small congregation, jabbing the air with one hand while the other curled around one of Bruce’s shoulders. _Huh._

"I briefly imprisoned his brother and helped him find Odin before he passed." He shrugged. "Thor grows attached easily. He seems to be under the impression that tentative ally means friend. He has visited the Sanctum several times since."

"And why would you, a surgeon with hands like a rabbit's heart, know how to imprison Loki: literal God of mischief," Tony asked, world's colliding in a way he was absolutely _living_ for. Seriously, where the hell was Rhodey when you needed him?

"Oh, right. Yes. I'm Sorcerer Supreme now," he said casually and before Tony could ask what the hell that meant, Strange circled his hand through the air and reached into a golden rift in space. It was a small portal and it’s counterpart appeared by Tony's side, golden and crackling with energy. He watched, disturbed, as Stephen's hand emerged from the second rift. It plucked his drink from his slack grip before retreating away. Both portals closed with a flurry of sparks after Strange withdrew his hand from the first rift, still holding Tony's drink. He offered it back to him and Tony took it, stunned as the glass settled into his palm once more. 

"I'm kicking you out," Tony said and Strange laughed, which he felt was a bit unfair. Magic was just another tech he didn't yet understand, but he hadn't had many pleasant experiences with it in the past. It tended to be difficult to study something you wanted to avoid, although Stephen didn’t know that. Tony took a sip of the drink against his better judgement... Still good. "So, what? The Avengers call you when we have an itch we can't reach? A bank to rob?"

"What I do is much more impressive than that," Strange replied smoothly and Tony got the distinct impression that he was flirting with him - not in a _'lets bang in the coat-check'_ way, but something more friendly. It was a joke with respect to their past, not a sincere offer, and Tony appreciated the banter. He was never one to hide from his past (mistakes and all) and he was glad Stephen wasn't going to let it come between them. Especially if they were going to be assembling together in the future.

"Well, I look forward to seeing you prove it. We're heavily lacking in the magic-user department and it's good to see a friendly face on a new-comer. Hey, I'll make sure you get the good welcome pack, with mini-cookies and dental cover," Tony winked and stepped back to leave and his spine hit upon a warm hard wall. 

Tony looked up with a smile. “Hey, babe.”

Steve moved to stand beside him, his broad hand skimming over the small of his back before settling on his opposite hip. He pulled him close and Tony went gladly, only a little surprised by the strength behind Steve’s tugging. Steve had always had power brimming beneath the surface - he was so large, it was hard to forget that strength, even if he was doing something as tame as cleaning the coffee grounds out of the annoying nook at the back of the machine. Realistically, Tony should bump up ‘New Coffee Machine’ to top ten in his to-do list, but he liked Steve’s concentration face too damn much.

“Apologies for my interruption,” said Steve and the tone of his voice _did_ surprise Tony. It was hard, befitting of the most recent iteration of the Cap suit he wore to the night’s event, and it left no room for argument. He even seemed to stand bigger by Tony's side, feet parted just so and his jaw square and stubborn. “I need to borrow my fiancé.”

“No problem,” Tony nodded, ready for action. He had been expecting something to come up. An undercurrent of anxiety had plagued him all evening - paranoid, that someone had decided to cause havoc while all of the available Avenger’s and co. were currently under one roof. He kept the easy smile on his face; it would do no good to cause mass panic. “See you around, Doctor.”

“Certainly. Congratulations on the engagement, Tony. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon," Strange clinked his glass against Tony’s in a celebratory farewell before he inclined his head in Steve’s direction. “Captain Rogers.”

Tony watched, momentarily bemused as the other man swept away; his cape seemed to defy gravity in a way that wasn’t due to Strange’s usual flair for dramatics. Steve grabbed his wrist before he could linger on the thought and Tony was lead away and up the stairs beyond prying ears to the upper levels of the Mansion. 

He was led through to the old library and out onto the adjoining balcony. Tony had memories of dangling his stubby legs through the iron safety bars, and of Jarvis, who often perched with a book at the table overlooking the gardens. Both the table and iron bars were gone now - the latter replaced in the refit with stone pillars. The skeleton and floorplan of the house remained the same, but when Tony compared the reality to his memories the building was almost unrecognisable. It was, potentially, why hosting the evening hadn't been so forbidding.

He took a look at Steve’s hardened expression and requested F.R.I.D.A.Y cloak balcony for good measure. Sound could get in, but not out. The night air was balmy and still, filled with the indistinct chatter of party-goers, the ebb and flow of live music, and the more distant hum of the city beyond the Mansion’s boundary.

“So. What up, Cap? Bomb buried somewhere in the building?” It was cliché and virtually impossible to get past the security systems in place to successfully pull off a stunt like that - not to mention the leagues of twitchy assassins checking the perimeter at every conversational lull - but Tony made a habit to expect the unexpected.

“Can’t I just want a minute alone with my fiancé?” Steve said, low and surprising Tony by nudging him back against the house’s exterior wall. 

Tony might understand if Steve had wanted a moment away from the socialising. Apparently he had never enjoyed mingling with strangers and only ever went along to parties pre-war because Barnes wanted him there - not that anybody could make Steve do anything if he was firmly set against it, but still. Barnes always had a sway like that. 

Upon such occurrences, Steve was clammy and cold to the touch, but now he was hot and crowding up against Tony like he was wearing the little red number he liked under his fine pin-stripe trousers.

A golden yellow glow from indoors cast a soft warmth over Steve’s features which extended to a natural flush of red and a healthy pink denoting embarrassment bled across Cap’s ashlar cheeks. Care and craftsmanship had been taken to great lengths to chisel the fine sculpt of his features, but Tony always preferred them marred by messy biology.

“Well, you are blushing so nicely for me,” Tony said, curiosity coming to life like a match to kerosene. 

He stretched out one hand to trace the bloom of colour when Steve caught his wrist and pinned it to the wall beside his head, leaving his arm akimbo. Hot like a knife, arousal sliced through Tony’s lower belly as his other wrist joined the first and again Tony was reminded of the power hidden below the soft caress of Steve’s thumb over his skin. He knew exactly how much PSI would be needed to snap his wrists and he precisely how much _more_ force Cap could easily exert. And Steve knew exactly how much Tony could take, always drawing him to the edge and holding him there, never once testing or threatening going over the line. There was precision and power in that control, too. Steve could play him like a well-polished, finely-tuned instrument.

“Stay,” he said, like a man to his dog (albeit, a kind man who loved his dog very much) and Tony found he wouldn’t be able to move if he wanted to. He met Cap’s heated gaze and smirked as the shadow of his early paranoia slipped away to make room for keen arousal. He was glad he had the forethought to cloak the balcony.

Steve’s hands untucked Tony’s shirt, the ends rumpled and hitched up over Steve’s forearms as his thumbs pressed into matching impressions he had left not twenty-four hours prior along the slope of his hips. The bruises were purpled now and hurt enough to make Tony’s cock begin to swell and plump, a harmonious race of nerves between masochism and hedonism. 

He ignored his baser instinct that told him to look away, to hide his pain, and his upturned face was greeted with Steve’s mouth on his, joining him in the shadows. Steve tasted a little of Cola and lemon (because Steve was his _angel_ and never drank when Tony wasn’t drinking), and the press of his lips was fiercely dominant. 

Steve got like this sometimes, commanding and assuming more boldness with his actions. He was happy for Tony to take the lead, to top or bottom, to dole out pain and pleasure or beg for it himself (Steve Rogers was always so fair, even in bed) but sometimes he _needed_ to be the one running the show. 

Most often it found him after particularly brutal missions or days spent apart without one another warming the bed and Steve needed to reassure himself of what he had not lost. In his vulnerability, he stood taller, stronger, and took care of Tony (warm baths, hand feeding, prostate milking) as though regaining that little bit of control reminded him of the steadfast nature of their relationship. Sometimes there was no rhyme or reason and Steve barked out an order and Tony would happily fall to his knees to follow the fun. Everybody liked being taken care of, but nobody more than Tony - and just his luck, Steve loved doting on him.

While this was a common enough occurrence in their relationship that the intermission on the balcony wasn’t at all a shocker to Tony, pinning him to the wall in a semi-public place, kissing him breathless - _literally, seeing stars here_ \- and playing with his bruises? Not a day-to-day Cap activity.

They were both clearly fit and well and had been in each other’s presence on and off for the past 72 hours, but neither was this - in Steve’s words, not his own, _thank you_ \- the appropriate time or place to be having fun getting naughty. Especially not _that_ brand of naughty.

“I’m on board for whatever this is, seriously don’t stop, but mind telling me what’s gotten your star-spangled panties in a twist?” Tony panted, shuddering against the wall. He was already leaning back in for a second kiss but caught Steve’s jaw instead as he answered.

“Rhodes said-”

“Ew, I’m going to stop you there. What did I say about bringing up other people in bed?” Tony interrupted playfully. He let his arms drop to wrap around Steve’s shoulders as his own began to twinge from the awkward angle. Steve huffed with mild amusement creasing his brow and glanced to the balcony’s edge: definitely not a bed. “Point taken. Continue.”

“He said you and-” Steve nodded his head in the direction of downstairs to the party and Tony followed his gaze with confusion. When he looked back there was that blush again, a darker rouge now beneath the shadows. “Used to- You know. Together. A lot.”

Tony would want the record to show that he was perfectly capable of being cruel, but he was not at heart a cruel man, so he did not ask his flustered lover to use full sentences. 

“Ah,” he said instead as comprehension slotted into place. 

Rhodey must’ve recognised Strange even with the weird wizard get-up he had going on. He could picture it now: Steve innocently inquiring about the funny dressed fella talking to Tony and Rhodey - always the entertainment - leaping at the chance to tell a mid-2000’s Tony Stark-approved wild story

Annoyingly, he couldn’t remember which Tony Stark-approved wild stories from the mid-2000s involved Strange. 

It could’ve been bad. 

Hopefully, it was not the one about the feather boa. He wouldn’t have approved the one about the feather boa. Right?

“We did,” he confirmed and Steve’s expression grew heated once more. He drew closer, pressing his stiff cock against Tony’s lower stomach. _Fuck._ Tony stuttered and the air whooshed out of him as he ground up against Steve’s thigh, needy upon the realisation of how _ready_ for it Steve was. 

He was sure Steve must have met his exes before - there was Pepper, for one, who Steve had pleasant conversations with every once in a while and had never provoked this kind of reaction. Everyone else was more of a fling than an ex, except Strange who bordered a confusing purgatory betwixt the two. Was it because this time it happened to be a handsome looking fella (as opposed to Pepper, who was beautiful and terrifying)? Tony had already brought up the topic of not mentioning other people while they were intimate, so now was Steve left without the means or tools to ask for a threesome?

Did Steve have a thing for capes?

Fuck. He was jumping to conclusions.

“Doesn’t really answer my question, Steve,” He said, unclear about when he had become the one designated to coax out an adult conversation from the pair of them. He let his head drop back with a dull thud against the brick behind him as Steve unbuttoned his shirt from the bottom up, methodically revealing his toned stomach and scarred ribs. “Give me some artistic direction, huh? All I’ve got to work on here is that seeing me with Strange is doing something for you.”

“No,” Steve said, frowning as if Tony had spat on his boots. Still not on the same page, then. Tony ran his lips over Steve’s soothingly and the other man broke away to elaborate, “When Rhodey said- what he said, something came over me and I needed to step in. It’s ridiculous, truthfully; I just didn’t like him so close to you. It wasn’t right for me to interrupt you like that.”

And that was interesting. In all the time they’d been together, Tony hadn’t seen Steve outright jealous before. Tony hid a smile - it was flattering, really. A bit cute, too - and nodded up at his partner.

“Okay, I can work with that,” he said, reassuring because Cap needed that right now. He needed clarity, care, and control. “But you gotta know you have zero reason to be jealous, right? For one, it was more than ten years ago; I pretty much only remembered he existed an hour ago. And two, if you think he can compete with _literal human perfection_ then we’re getting married right now so I can divorce you for being an idiot. And yes, I’m talking about your body. And yes, I’m talking about your mind and your heart, too. You’re my whole package, babe.”

Steve swallowed and stared at him for a moment before capturing him in a kiss again and - as declarations of love go - Tony thought he’d done okay. Two broad hands came up to cup his jaw and Steve kissed him deeply, long slow movements that spoke of the earnest devotion of his love.

“I know,” Steve said as he pulled back with a smile. His thumbs tracing the thin scratchy lines of Tony’s beard, then the crows-feet that stretched to his cheekbones. “You’re mine,” he added, not possessively; in some twist of fate, Tony was Steve’s whole package, too.

Tony smiled, glad to have smoothed that out. He sent a quiet _fuck you_ to his past self for ever doubting that he and Steve could make a go of a successful relationship. He threaded his fingers through the cropped hair at the base of Steve’s head, tugging playfully as the strands slipped through his digits. He pulled him in for another kiss, confirming the goodwill between them. 

Steve was still hard against him, still tense and tall over him as they kissed. Steve must understand logically that Strange was no threat and he would be able to survive the rest of the night without incident. Tony could make him wait until they were home to relieve Steve of some of that power (he would stand at the foot of their bed and submit so Steve could undress him, handle him, and regain his sense of security) but why wait when there was fun to be had now?

After all, they could do that later, too. 

“You should know better than to listen to Rhodey’s stories. He always embellishes,” Tony said, eyes flashing as he rolled his hips into Steve’s. Oh yes, Steve was definitely still interested.

“It wasn’t that,” He confessed, his fingers tensing up as they dropped to Tony’s shoulders, trapping him in place. He probably didn’t even realise he was doing it. “He was awful familiar with you. He called you Tony.”

“Everyone calls me Tony,” he snorted and pressed his bare chest against the armoured faux-leather of Steve’s. “Only the kid calls me Mr Stark now.”

“I saw him give you the once over. More than once, I’m surprised you didn’t notice.” Steve argued and his hands found their way down the sides of Tony’s chest, back to framing his hips over his bruises. He squeezed. “You were holding hands.”

Tony kissed him to hide another smile and Steve moaned into the touch and the possessiveness from earlier reared its head again. _Excellent._ He jerked his hips forward, not as a seduction tactic, but because Steve felt so impossibly good looming over him he couldn't _not_ rub up against him. He broke free to bite at Steve’s jugular, his voice rough as he spoke, “Oh, he definitely did check me out. We banged on the regular and I still look pretty good, with a more than smoking hot husband-to-be waiting at my beck-and-call. Can you blame him for looking at what he missed out on? And I wasn’t holding his hand. The fact I have had said hand inside me several times completely escaped my notice until _you_ brought it up-”

_“Christ.”_

_Gotcha,_ Tony thought and threw his head back with a joyous laugh as Steve lifted him up onto his hips. Steve supported his entire weight and kissed him fiercely, taking over, taking back what was his, and Tony melted into it; more than happy to have all of that passion directed his way. His legs wrapped around Steve’s waist with practised familiarity and he clung onto the meat of his lover’s shoulders as he was ground back into the scrape of the brick wall.

“What was your plan? Get me up here all alone and give me a dozen hickeys to go with your ring I wear around my neck?” He coaxed between groans, hips rutting against the hard planes of Steve’s abdominal muscles. He cursed the red and white stripes of the suit; Steve’s bare stomach would feel a lot nicer to rub up against.

“He was showing off. It was magic, but-” Steve continued as if he had never spoken, biting cherry-red circles along Tony’s neck. He made a frustrated noise, his throat working over his next words and they seemed to be difficult for Steve to share. “He handed you something and you took it like it was _nothing,_ Tony.”

It had taken Tony approximately two and a half years before he was comfortable enough to take things that Steve handed to him. He didn’t remind his lover of that, nor did he explain why it was easy to accept something from Strange. Neither of them wanted serious, so instead, he opted for reckless. “Muscle memory. Can’t forget _taking_ from a man like that.”

(It was, technically, half true. He hadn’t realised that he had - without hesitation - taken his drink back from Strange, but he hadn’t been lying either when he told Steve that he hadn’t spared a thought for his old lover in years. They’d stopped seeing each other at some point or another, grew apart, became heroes, and that was the end of that chapter.

He had no reason to want to remember anybody else when Steve was so damn great - not infallible, but human and wonderful. Steve even made his vegan breakfast burrito to perfection in the mornings, maintained at the right temperature beside a shot of coffee ready for him until he stumbled out of bed.)

"You’re going to remember taking this," Steve promised, his voice low and clouded with heady arousal. With crystal cut efficiency, Tony was dropped back onto his feet and Steve ripped away his belt, followed by a push of his waistband to his ankles. It all happened so fast that Tony felt the air on his dick before he even realised he was half-naked.

 _Thank God I didn’t show Strange the arc reactor,_ Tony thought wildly.

“Oh fuck,” He gasped, struck by a wave of lust that made his knees weak and he almost tripped over his trousers in an effort to climb the other man. Steve was there to catch him and guide him to the balcony edge. With a large hand in the now chaotic waves of his hair, Steve pushed Tony to bend over and the sun-warmed stone of the barrier pressed in against his stomach. Tony groaned and let his forearms hold his weight against the side as Steve arranged him for his needs.

Tony only had a second to wonder if Steve had a plan or if he was making things up on the fly when slick fingers massaged around his hole. They were broad and cool against the heat of his body, firm and commanding on the most sensitive skin. He could feel Steve watching his own fingers, likely considering if Tony ever rocked his hips into Strange’s touch with urgent little thrusts as he was doing now. A dry hand settled on his backside to pull him apart and Tony cried out with need, which was enough to drive Steve into action. 

Not one, but two dripping fingers plunged inside his body, coaxing and demanding entrance, and all at once nothing else mattered anymore. The party, Strange, it was all secondary to this. The only thing Tony could focus on was the sudden brutal - _perfect_ \- thrusts of Steve's fingers stretching him. There was some pain there and Tony tensed all over despite himself in answer to the shocking intrusion, but Steve just kept fingering him through it.

“Want more, Tony?” Steve said through the rush of blood pounding at Tony’s eardrums. He blinked away the black and white splotches at the edge of his vision and nodded, clutching at the stone ledge hard enough to scuff his nails.

“Yes, come on,” he urged and spread himself further because he knew this was Steve’s compromise. Steve, who loved the idea of a traffic-light system, but never asked Tony what colour he felt because - to Tony - the colours were always a mood killer.

“Good,” Steve praised and worked his fingers faster, harder, into Tony; so deep that he would have bruises later where the knuckles of Steve’s other fingers punched against the flesh of his buttocks.

Helpless to the onslaught of pleasure, Tony’s cheeks flushed with sweet humiliation. It wasn’t real embarrassment - he could never be truly embarrassed around Steve, who knew him better than he knew himself a lot of the time - but he couldn’t escape the feeling of boyhood punishment for testing the limits and pushing too far. It was dirty and merciless and painful in a way that bordered on too much, except it was _Steve_ and he would never actually hurt him. Steve wasn't punishing him, he was claiming back what was his.

“That’s right,” Steve said, voice rumbling, and the words oozed like honey down Tony’s spine. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

Tony would press back into the thrusts if he could, but Steve placed a steady hand on the small of his back, forcing his stomach to stay against the rough stone beneath him. It was like Steve had anticipated it - maybe he had - and Tony felt the last slip of sense he had leave him under that touch, his body relaxing fully to Steve’s care.

He moaned out his need wantonly instead, reduced to a senseless pleading thing. “Steve, Steve, yours- oh, fuck.” The words came without thought, punched through his lungs into the humid air around them. 

“You’re going to regret winding me up, Tony,” Steve said, firm and punctured by the effort of pistoning his middle and ring fingers into Tony's hole. He was breathing harshly and Tony knew it wasn’t due to the effort of maintaining his rough pace.

“Regret, yeah, feelin’ it,” he lied, his head hung low and dizzy over the side of the balcony. He could feel Steve rocking against the back of his bare thigh, a slow strange rhythm out of time with the intensity of his fingers. “God, yes. Don’t stop sweetheart, you’re perfect, you’re so perfect.”

Steve stretched him to three and he whined brokenly, sweat dampening his shirt until it clung flush, cloying, to his back as Steve maintained ultimate control over his pleasure. His pace was relentless and punishing. Violent, if one ignored the precision Steve kept and Tony knew he was very far from using his full strength. 

It wasn’t often that he could come so fast from penetration alone - and Steve wasn’t even aiming for his prostate half of the time, the bastard - but Steve was commanding and using his body expertly, overwhelming without breaking, and the shocking appearance of a wave of his orgasm was coming hard and fast and his spunk was going to shoot over the side of the building to the ground below and _oh god-_

“Steve!” he cried, uncaring of volume and the guests only a floor below as he helplessly clung to the side of the balcony, ready to ride out the storm, to tumble over the edge into ecstasy, to-

And then everything stopped. And Steve pulled away.

Tony slumped, knees wobbling as Steve hushed him. “Just a minute, Tony, I’ve got you,” he said, a lighthouse in the face of this oncoming wreck. Tony didn’t question the pause; didn’t question Steve, despite the painful throb of his turgid prick. He grunted, a thick noise in the base of his throat; he couldn't manage much more as the sensitive raw aftershocks of it all shook through him.

Tony heard the zip of Steve's suit behind him and he was so close to the tipping point he almost spent himself because of a damn _noise._

“Do you want-”

 _“Yes,”_ Tony begged; whatever it was Steve had in mind if it involved his dick it would be worth the pause. He groaned in unadulterated rapture as the head of Steve’s cock breached him, the slide easy and comfortable through cushion-soft flesh after the thorough stretch. “Please, yes.”

He felt Steve rearrange him, kicking his legs out wider and tugging one of his arms so it could rest at the base of his spine. Steve gripped his wrist there, holding him steady to use Tony’s body as leverage, and he carefully undulated his hips. The head of his cock teased out past the clenching ring of muscle before he pushed back in carefully, deliciously stretching Tony another half an inch- then he stopped again.

“This is all you're getting for now,” Steve promised, his voice low as he pulled out to watch Tony’s hole gape and wink before filling the space that he left bereft. He only sank in the inch of his tip and Tony started to understand what regret tasted like.

“No, damnit. Please, Steve, I’m almost- please,” He begged, because surely this type of torture was hurting Steve as much as it hurt him. He wondered what they looked like to the room behind - what a friend or a stranger might see if they went looking for them, only to come across the picture of Captain America bouncing Tony on the tip of his dick.

They had played this game before. Not this position (no, that was all Steve’s imagining), nor this arrangement: usually Steve was the one begging, strung out after his sixth orgasm with the seventh in the palm of Tony’s hand. Tony liked to watch him turn into a mess of sweat and come, so he understood intimately what Steve felt like when he released a breathy sob, clenching with an unspoken demand around his cock. Powerful, yes, definitely that. And so much love, too.

“You can beg all you want, Tony, but you’re not coming until we’re home in our bed together,” Steve said, his voice remarkably steady. Beneath the words, Tony heard another wet sound and felt the chill of lube pouring between his cheeks. Steve rubbed his hand over his behind, slicking up the crack of his ass and his palm until they both glistened. 

The hand disappeared and Tony felt it as Steve began to jerk the sizeable portion of his cock that had not made it inside him and Steve managed a few long indulgent strokes before he began to take his pleasure wholeheartedly. He resumed the fast pace he had maintained while finger-fucking Tony moments earlier and his hips stuttered, pushing the head of his cock in and out of him by mere increments and Tony understood. Steve was going to jerk off inside him until he came. He was going to remind him, undeniably, of how much of a whore he truly was for Steve’s cock - all while barely touching him.

Now more than ever, Tony wanted to be _filled._ The want felt like an obsession, all-consuming, and he felt reduced to the empty space in his ass. A hole, needing to be stuffed and owned.

“Please, Steve, I can’t- I’ll be so good for you. I’m yours, you bastard, fuck me! Get Strange, make him watch- make him watch you take me, I don't care, just do it!" He knew he sounded needy, a mess, an embarrassment on any other day, but this was Steve, who knew just what to do to get him gagging for it. Steve took him here and he would take care of him.

"Hush," he said simply, all but ignoring Tony's pleas and it shouldn't make him hot but it did. He was Steve's thing, there to be used and cared for in whichever way he saw fit. Tony’s entire being was Steve’s; his body, his pleasure, and everything in between he handed over to his dutiful partner. That last submission had Tony trembling, nearly sobbing, utterly overwhelmed by how much he trusted the other man - how much he loved him, even when he was ready to explode with hungry frustration. He loved it; the pain and ache of denial just reminded him of how deeply they belonged to each other. Only Steve could put him in such a state and he was the only one Tony wanted to guide him through it.

Something about that seemed to do it for Steve too, who began to stroke faster, his breaths loud in the short space between them. Tony keened, arching his back to try and get closer, to feel the patter of kisses he knew the other man ached to decorate his spine with. But Steve was long, had always been long, and he could wrap two fists around himself well before nudging up against Tony's cheeks if he wanted; Tony had quite a way to go to be filled. The hand at his back kept the distance between them and, again, Tony almost came then and there from the pure _want_ of it all.

Steve stroked his hand over his cock roughly, the tip of him fucking into Tony with fast sharp jabs until he stilled. Tremors wracked through his body and Tony knew he was dying to bury himself balls deep, as deep as he could go, but Steve kept the space; still needing to prove to the baser part of himself that nobody was a threat to their partnership. Tony was his and would beg - was begging - for his prick, his body, his affection, and nothing would change that. 

“Tony-!” Steve came inside him with an uncontrolled cry and a tear escaped to roll down Tony's cheek as hot come poured into his body. It wasn't his own orgasm - it did nothing to stop the pounding of blood through his dick and the painful ache in his balls or the deeper longing and disturbing emptiness he felt - but it was somehow better. Steve was filling him with his spunk, the culmination of their long fought-after relationship; marking him in the most primal, animalistic way. 

"That's it, doll, that's it," Steve soothed, breathless and Tony wanted to hit him a little for being so fucking perfect. Even now, at the end of his rope, Tony felt a rush of love for Steve. He felt used and owned, looked after and slick with come, but he relaxed under the feathering of Steve’s words in spite of himself, still boneless and desperate. "Just a bit more."

"Please," Tony moaned and the word was almost meaningless. He pleaded for nothing in particular, he just wanted Steve. Forever, always.

"You're perfect," Steve praised, riding one hand under Tony's shirt to feel the hot sweat-damp skin of his spine. Then let go of Tony's wrist and pressed a kiss to the thumb-shaped red patch of skin on the inside of his palm. Steve removed himself next, vacating Tony’s body for mere seconds before a blunt bulb filled the space. It settled in until the flat base of the plug nestled between his cheeks. It was small, just ballooned enough to be noticeable, and did nothing to satisfy the emptiness.

"Fuck-" Tony groaned in surprise as his hole twitched and throbbed around the silicone, shaking him in place as the torment continued. Cap helped him straighten and turn, and Tony felt the rough rasp of his suit against his hyper-sensitive prick as Steve’s large arms enveloped him, his full trembling weight cradled in a loving embrace. Tony caught his breath, dazed. "Did you have that in your belt?"

"Yeah," Steve replied and Tony knew he had the gall to blush. He couldn't see it, but he knew Steve had a little self-satisfied smile on his face and Tony groaned at the thought of him sneaking lube and a butt-plug into his Captain America suit in the hopes that one day they might need it. Steve’s hands traced through the sweat at the small of Tony’s back, down between his cheeks to touch the base of the plug, lustful and fond. "You don't need to keep it inside you. The idea is nice, but it may be impractical. I wasn’t certain what size would be most comfortable for walking around."

Tony looked up to the other man, eyes blurry with lust. "I'm keeping it. You're made for me. I'm keeping you inside me forever. All of your come, send it my way, plug me up." He was probably (definitely) babbling, but he could hardly be blamed; he hadn’t been expecting mind-blowing sex _during_ the charity gala, after all.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked with a quiet chuckle, brushing his fingers over the sweat-slicked hair that flopped limply over Tony's forehead. He sounded reasonably concerned, but not apologetic, and Tony felt pride that Steve understood how okay it was for them to get off on what they just did. "Do you want me to finish you off? I'm not actually going to make you wait unless you-"

Tony shook his head.

"I must be flying high and you shouldn't trust what I'm about to say next, but... I want the wait. I want to get through the rest of this night with your come inside me so you can take me home and use it as lube when you fuck me _for real_ in our own bed. You drive me crazy and I love it. I love you." He finished, standing up on wobbly legs and tippy-toes to kiss the other man sincerely, dearly, ardently. 

"I love you," Steve returned between kisses, his hands running soothingly up and down the curve of Tony's back and the grazed skin of his stomach.

Tony pulled away as increments of his brain ticked back online. “I can’t believe you just jerked off inside me. That’s so fucking hot,” he said, laughing a little as Steve ducked his head to hide his blush. Tony’s heart was fit to burst; he just wanted Cap so damn much. “I had no idea you were so possessive, Mister Rogers.”

“I think you already knew, Tony,” Steve argued, holding him a little tighter. Which was fair; as soon as he had the opportunity, Steve had always - without fail - introduced Tony as his boyfriend, his partner, his fiancé. Steve would even take Tony’s name after the wedding if they decided the Cap rebranding nightmare would be worth it. “Thank you, for that. For all of it. And I am sorry for interrupting you, I shouldn’t have.”

Tony sighed, nuzzling against Steve’s chest fondly. “Honestly it’s fine, I was on my way to find you regardless. I didn’t have _this_ in mind, but it’s the best turn the night could have taken. Just give me like five minutes and a baby wipe and we're good to go." He said tiredly and made no effort to move from their haphazard hug. Steve's fly was still undone and Tony's trousers wrapped uncomfortably over his shoes and around his ankles, his shirt a damp mess clinging to his sides. They were both half-hard, but now Steve had taken the edge off for himself he would be able to make it through the entirety of the evening without an ill-timed stiffy. Tony, on the other hand, would struggle. "Maybe ten minutes," he added.

"Whatever you want," Steve promised, kissing his forehead and making sure he was steady on his feet before pulling back. He zipped himself back up and rummaged in his belt pockets, then knelt at Tony's feet as he procured a wipe and began swiping away lube and sweat from his body. 

Tony would laugh if he had the energy. He hummed Cap's Star-Spangled Man tune instead and the swat to his thigh was worth the sting, even if the jolt made him clench around the too-small plug inside him.

"We should explore this more," he said conversationally, as though he was talking about design specs. Steve cleaned him up and dressed him and Tony let him, feeling like a doll. At Steve's curious hum he elaborated. "This orgasm-delay, thing. Cock-rings. Cock-cages, if you’re feeling especially Captain-y.”

"You just like it when I put the work in,” Steve replied wryly, tucking the chain of his engagement ring below the buttons of Tony’s shirt. It clinked against the arc reactor as it settled.

"Well, I'm not going to argue with you there. But even so, you can’t deny the appeal of taking absolute control of my pleasure like that. You seem to forget that we don’t do this just for you; I like belonging to you, I like it when-”

"You're going to work yourself up again," Steve laughed, pulling him into another cuddle.

"Point," Tony agreed but put the thought aside for later perusal. He wrapped his arms around Steve's shoulders again and kissed him. Steve swayed them slightly and it took Tony a few moments to realise he was dancing to the slow jazz music, softened by the walls and floors below them. 

"Ready?" Steve said quietly after a while, sounding as though he didn’t want to leave.

Tony smiled back at him, feeling filthy and obvious and alreadyregretting his decision to not drag Steve home to bed and forget about the party entirely. But with Steve, he was ready for anything life threw at him - even if it was an evening of frustration trying to hide his hard-on in a crowd of friends and colleagues. Hopefully, they would all be drunk enough by now that they didn’t notice how sweaty and happy they both were.

"Ready," he replied and took Steve's hand in his to rejoin the party.

If Strange was still around Tony didn't notice. He stayed by his fiancé’s side all night, laughing and teasing and, eventually (finally) making love. The following two impossible, Earth-shattering, universe-altering, orgasms Tony had were - for the record - well worth the wait.

  
  



End file.
